


take care of business (for me)

by the_gabih



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossdressing, Enemies to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trans Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Trans Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Trans Male Character, Trans Sylvain Jose Gautier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28698009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_gabih/pseuds/the_gabih
Summary: Dimitri and Felix are spies tasked with working together when they'd rather do anything but. Sylvain is the unfortunate civilian thrown into their mission with them. But there's a lot more to Dimitri and Felix's tumultuous relationship, and to Sylvain, than meets the eye. Can the three of them get to the bottom of it before it's too late?
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16
Collections: The Three Houses AU Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first big bang, and I had an absolute blast! Enormous thanks to CrispyWhispy for the amazing art, to the server for the sprints that kept me going, and to Robin for putting up with me vanishing all the time to write/edit/panic.
> 
> Also, shoutout to [the art that inspired it all](https://twitter.com/justonevice/status/1298839345043038209), and to the devastating handsomeness of the main trio in Man from U.N.C.L.E. (2015). I can't rightly call this a crossover any more, given how wildly it deviates, but [the soundtrack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sk-TjQ2DF4M&list=PLMsFR-IuG_7Edbn_LSDG5NW3RjgNxOp8N) still did a lot of heavy lifting when it came to writing inspo.

Tiny pawpricks knead against Felix’s shoulder. The only reason Mog doesn’t get a pistol to the face is because Felix is beginning to get used to the crotchety old thing.

“Urgh. Get off,” he tells her, not moving to dislodge her in the slightest. The remnants of his dream still cling to him, the feel of blood sticky and hot against his hands, and her purring, stinking warmth is a reminder that he’s no longer in that drawing room. They have peace. It’s over, has been for a good decade now. “Didn’t Bernie feed you?”

“Mrrow,” says Mog, determinedly. Her claws sink down through the blankets in tiny prickly patterns until Felix has the temerity to burrow his head down in the blankets again, at which point she hops off and pads away towards the fridge. “ _Mrrow_.”

“I’m up,” Felix grouses. “I’m up, damn it.” He swings his feet over the side of the couch with a low groan. His shoulders and back thrum with a deep-set ache, and he shifts his arms in small circles to try and loosen. His age is catching up with him, which is not a thought he’d expected to have at twenty-six.

Then again, he hadn’t expected to make it to twenty-six. He’s doing pretty well on that count, at least.

He pushes himself up slowly, rubbing his hands over his eyes. His feet know their way well enough at this point, even with Mog winding between them. Her bowl is empty, though Felix isn’t sure whether that’s because she’s eaten already or hasn’t been fed, and he’s disinclined to make her any fatter by falling for her big brown eyes again.

Instead, he shuffles out of the living room and back along the hall. Bernie’s study door is shut, but there’s light through the crack at the bottom. He pushes the handle down so the door opens with barely a whisper- and there she is. Bernie is slumped over the desk, her head pillowed on her arms. Inches away, her piles of hand-sewn cushions and quilts sit untouched. Felix rolls his eyes, though he gets it. He’d be a hypocrite to complain about someone else running themself into the ground to try and avoid uncomfortable memories.

He picks up one of the foolscap sheets scattered across the desk and glances over it. She’s been working for a publishing house for a few years now, one of those pulp places with the lurid covers and asinine titles. At least she hasn’t given herself over to the recent trend of large-chested men cowering before monsters- at least, not that he’s seen so far.

Her current work is almost as ridiculous though. The hero creeps around some secret underground base until he’s discovered, and the cackling evildoer he’s been tracking down sets a self destruct sequence in motion, complete with helpful announcement over the loudspeakers. Things like that don’t happen. Mysterious weapons coming down from the sky and obliterating whole cities? Sure. But mundane idiocy like this? No villain worth their salt- or Felix’s finder’s fee- would do something so stupid.

“D’you like it?”

Felix looks down to see Bernie blinking up at him.

“What, this? Or the fact that you stayed up all night writing something that would never happen?”

“Felix, that’s the point.” Bernie snatches the paper out of his hand with remarkable speed for the newly-woken. “It’s escapism.”

“It’s my job.”

“Yeah, well. They-” she waves out towards the window- “buy my books ‘cause they wanna pretend they have your job. They don’t want all the gritty bits. They wanna solve the case and ride off into the sunset with the whoever of their dreams.”

“With the villains’ lair exploding dramatically behind them?”

“Yes.”

“In a way that would probably fatally injure them in real life?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Hn. I’ll take your word for it. Coffee?”

Bernadetta gives a groan worthy of her characters’ love interests. “Please.”

Felix nods and pads back out towards the kitchen. Mog circles his ankles hopefully, and he glowers down at her before he calls back towards the bedroom.

“Did you feed the cat?”

“Did I- oh no!”

Felix heaves a sigh and concedes defeat. The coffee pot bubbles softly as he lifts down the bag of cat food and shakes a portion into Mog's bowl. This has become something of a ritual now. Bad days, anniversaries of things they’d rather forget. Felix’s apartment has been decreed ‘uninhabitable’, despite Bernie’s best efforts to drape his chairs in blankets and pillows, so he comes to hers. He knows his way around the kitchen almost as well as she does- which is to say, shakily, since neither of them are much good at cooking.

Felix wraps his fingers tightly around the mug once it’s done. The heat pricks at his skin, on the verge of stinging but not quite. The coffee is Bernadetta’s preferred blend, much less bitter than his own, but the smell of it is earthy and comforting all the same, and finally lures Bernie out from her slump as he carries into her room. She reaches out to grab a blanket and wrap it around her shoulders before taking the mug from Felix.

“How long are you staying?” she asks, after several moments of companionable silence. Felix stares down into his mug, as though it would help him sift through the chaos of thoughts that his latest dossier had sparked.

“Only until this is done. I’ve got a new job.”

“Oh?” Bernie asks, because even knowing how secure his work is, sometimes she can’t quite seem to help herself. Like they’re still in the same battalion. Felix nods.

“Mmn. Tracking down some guy, bringing him in. Should be easy.”

Bernie tilts her head. She knows as well as he does that ‘easy’ does not normally lead to Felix crashing on her couch for the night; that’s usually reserved for anniversaries better forgotten, or for nights when his mind will not let him sleep. “In Faerghus?”

“Leicester.”

“Oh.” She sounds more confused now. Felix is going to assume that was her attempt to prod him into giving up information. Barring Ingrid- who he would never refer to as ‘some guy’- there is no one left in Faerghus who might hurt him. At least, no one left alive.

But there had been a strangely familiar spark in Sylvain Berger’s eye, even in his official photo. It’s probably just the resemblance to the former Margrave Gautier- his uncle, according to the documents.

He takes another sip of his coffee and allows the sharp heat to dissipate that particular train of thought. Chances are he was chosen because of his familiarity with the family, but that doesn’t mean he has to be any less objective. He will not let himself be. “I’m just waiting for a car and some papers. Should be done by the time I get into town.”

“Oh. Okay.” She looks worried. She really shouldn’t be. “You know you can come back here after, right? Bernie won’t judge.”

“Bernie has the grumpiest cat in Enbarr and far too many cushions lying around.”

“You’re one to talk, Mr ‘I have nothing in my apartment except my sword collection’.”

“At least I keep them on the wall.”

“Yes. It makes you look like a serial killer.”

Felix gives her a flat look.

“Oh, come on. You’re a spy. There’s a difference.”

“You’re right, there is,” Felix concedes as he turns back towards the kitchen with his empty mug. “I get paid.”

“See? Now you get it.” Bernie twists round to point a finger at him. It’s much less threatening than her own military career might suggest, particularly when she’s standing in her rumpled dress from the day before with her hair sticking out in all directions. “You’re not a murderer, Felix. You don’t even kill that many people.”

“Still more than average.”

“Even so.” She sets her now-empty mug down on the desk, still pointing at him accusingly. “Bernie is going to have a shower, and when she gets back, you’d better not be being mean to yourself.”

Felix huffs a faint laugh as he turns back towards the kitchen. “Felix isn’t going to be here by then.”

“Still. No being mean to you. Only to people who deserve it.”

“Fine.” It’s not like she can see inside his head, anyway.

-

Felix hasn’t been this far north in a long while. Adrestia has mostly recovered from the war now; Faerghus and Leicester haven’t been so lucky. Though it kinda makes sense, given the mystery weapon that had wiped out Arianrhod and Myrddin. It’s a lot easier to rebuild a city when it hasn’t been entirely flattened.

Still, Gloucester had been quick to surrender, and it shows on the drive through. Past the remnants of war on the old border, the towns begin to pick up. Tiny villages have painted flowers twining up the sides of their houses and there are busy, bustling markets in the towns. The late autumn sun glints off tiled roofs, and later directly into Felix’s eyes as the sun edges down towards the horizon beyond. He’s in Riegan now, with Derdriu not far to the north.

So. ‘Sylvain Berger’. Maybe he really is a cousin, though Felix doesn’t remember much talk of them when they were kids. Perhaps he’s a bastard his father’s trying to bring to heel. Felix only knows of two legitimate Gautier children, and while he hasn’t seen Miklan in years, he’s willing to bet this guy isn’t him, and the dead younger kid is ruled out by default. Felix even went to the funeral. It was the last time his father had been able to wrestle him into a dress, mostly because the shock of losing his best friend had been ringing too loudly in his ears for him to take much notice of anything else.

A bastard, then. Seems the most likely option. The Margravine had died shortly after the war, but Felix is willing to imagine her husband had been as unfaithful as their family had always been famed to be. But why would a bastard be of much importance here? Had he known his father growing up? Felix certainly doesn’t remember a third Gautier child, but then the Margrave might well have been hiding the evidence of his infidelity. The idea turns Felix’s stomach. How long had that gone on? Had the Margrave been visiting and raising another child while his secondborn had been-

But that has nothing to do with the mission. Or with Felix, now. All he needs to do is find the guy, then find the remaining Gautiers. Then he can wash his hands of the whole mess and go back to his life.

Derdriu emerges in flickers beyond the low, rolling countryside. There’s a sharp sea breeze rolling in, and the farmhouses slowly give way to building sites as Felix drives closer. He wonders if Galatea is getting the same treatment to shelter the Faerghan refugees from further south, then tucks the thought away. Not his job.

The map leads him through the new districts into the patchwork old town, with its cobblestone streets and prettily painted brickwork. Every building looks dilapidated, and yet there are flower boxes in the windows, the bustle of an active economy at ground level. Trains run overhead in a steady loop, and when he gets nearer the sea, the shore is packed with bathers, even as evening begins to creep in.

Still not his concern. He parks his car in a quiet side street and steps out into the evening air. The shadows lengthening between the buildings and people bustling to and fro offer the perfect cover to slip into as Felix traces the route he’d been given to an underpass, where his contact slips a packet of paper into the crook of his arm, wrapped in a newspaper.

When Felix emerges, he should still look relatively anonymous; just a businessman headed home for the night. But there’s a strange, prickling feeling on the back of his neck, though when he looks round, there’s no one there.

He picks up the pace, the heels of his boots tapping against the cobbles. Once he’s reached an alleyway small enough to feel safe, he shakes the packet. Out comes two keys, one with a waterfront address written on the tag, the other for a place further afield. He tucks both into an inner pocket of his jacket and opens up the paper. Tucked away at its heart is a map of Derdriu, with his target’s workplace and home marked in red, along with his usual haunts, and the city’s pre- and post-curfew guard patrol routes outlined in pencil.

It’s a start. Felix memorises the details before he folds it back up and exits out the other end of the alley. No one has so far appeared at either end, but that doesn’t mean he’s not being watched, so he takes the more circuitous route to Berger’s garage. It would make for a pleasant stroll, were he a tourist; down to the waterfront and the docks, taking a left up set of stairs into a tiny alleyway and following the boulevards old and new back out to the newer parts of town. He cuts across the railway tracks to get to the garage beneath- it saves him an extra walk, and means a longer one for any tail to follow if they don’t want to catch his notice.

There’s a customer already in the garage, leaning against the wall with a smirk sprawling over his face. His target is talking to him, back up against another wall as he wipes down some piece of equipment. His hair is the deep red Felix had suspected it would be, which is strange, since he thought it had run through the Gautier line, not through the Margravine’s.

“I’m just saying,” the customer says, “that offer’s still open. Almyra’s nice this time of year. It’d do you good to get some fresh air.”

“Thought sea air was the recommendation already?” Sylvain shoots back, eyebrow raised. The easy smile on his face transforms it entirely from the official picture in his file. The comments about the philandering in there start to make sense- it’s the sort of face that, combined with the right level of charisma, would be devastating in an agent. He can imagine it would be a great help to a civilian trying to worm his way into some unfortunate woman’s bed, too. He’d be like Dorothea, if he worked for them.

But he doesn’t. He’s the target, and once Felix has got him to Enbarr, he’ll be out of his hair. He just needs to get him alone first. He steps into the garage, hands in his pockets, and feigns taking a look at the cars. They look like junkers for the most part, but what would he know? Sylvain’s eyes flick over to him, and his hands on the cleaning cloth stutter. Interesting. Is he aware of his missing family members? Has he been waiting for someone to come looking for him?

The customer looks over. He’s clearly not a relative- or at least, not on his father’s side. Perhaps genuinely a customer, though a very familiar one, going by their mutual body language before Felix’s arrival. Or a friend, or something more. It hardly matters. He might make for useful leverage if push comes to shove, but judging by the whipcord muscles of his arms, he might be more of a threat than he’s worth. He pushes off the wall hips-first and gives Sylvain a jaunty salute.

“Think about it,” he tells him. “It’s on the table, any time you want to take me up on it.”

Sylvain nods, pushing himself off the wall rather more stiffly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll let you know. Thanks for dropping by, Claude.”

“Any time.” The customer- Claude- gives Felix a nod as he passes and exits out into the street.

“What can I help you with?”

Felix waits until Claude has disappeared round a corner before he speaks. Even then, he walks deeper into the shop, just in case there’s anyone else left. “It’s more a question of how I can help you, right now.”

“Oh?”

“Mm. There’s someone after you. And I’d like to make sure they don’t get their hands on you.”

Sylvain scoffs and pulls a rag out from his pocket to wipe his hands. “Why the hell would anyone be after me?” He pauses. “Wait, it’s not Lucie, is it? ‘Cause I’ll admit, I was kind of a dick to her, but not enough to merit anything beyond a slap, I wouldn’t think.”

“This has nothing to do with your womanising. Ambrose and Miklan Gautier are missing.” Felix watches his face for a reaction and- there. The good humour vanishes, replaced by a preternatural stillness and wide eyes, if only for a moment. Sylvain’s shoulders draw fractionally up towards his ears. Interesting. He knows how to modulate his expressions, then. How much is this one hiding?

“Well, dunno why you’d think they’re here. I haven’t seen either of ‘em in years.”

“You’re their only family, and the only confirmed contact of both. Even if you don’t know anything, people are going to assume you do.”

“People like you?”

“Yes. Except worse.” Probably. “We need to get you to safety.”

Sylvain gives him an odd look. Felix can’t quite make it out; it’s not concern, and it’s not the sort of glib brushoff he often gets when he tells someone they’re in danger and he can protect them. It’s something else, and it prickles much as the sense of being watched had.

“Alright. Count me in.”

Felix blinks. “I was expecting you to take a lot more persuasion,” he tells him, the words tripping off his tongue almost before he can stop them.

Sylvain laughs. “Call it a hunch. I just… kinda trust you, I guess. If that’s not too weird to say.”

“It is,” Felix says, but he won’t question it further. Instead he gestures to the vehicle which, going by the obvious care with which it has been kept, is most likely Berger’s. “Get in the car. I’ll explain on the way.”

“Yes sir,” Sylvain says, giving him a jaunty little salute as he walks past him to the door. Felix glowers at him, his eyes flicking over to the door again. There isn’t anyone out in the open, but- there. A shadow on the far wall. Someone’s waiting for them. They’ll have a car too, most likely.

They almost certainly do not have Felix’s determination. He opens the back door and slips in behind Sylvain, pulling his paper back out from his coat pocket. “They’ve found us. I need you to do exactly as I say, understood?”

“Gotcha. Where are we heading?”

Sylvain’s eyes are unexpectedly warm and bright where they meet Felix’s in the mirror. Goddess, this man is all over the place. Felix looks down at the map. “Take the first left, fast as you can.”

Sylvain floors it. The car goes roaring out of the garage and twists sharply left. Railway arches flash by as Felix pulls out his map; it's hard to read in the bumpy torchlight, but he's got a good image of it in his head. It should be a fairly easy drive to the house. Would be if he didn't have a tail. Their new route is going to be a lot less direct.

"Right," he tells Sylvain, wedging his leg and elbow against the back of the driver's seat as the car lurches in that direction. His other leg shifts until his foot can push up against the window handle and turn it in slow, quiet circles. He can hear a second engine behind them, growing louder as their car slows to meet a stoplight. Sylvain's shoulders are rigid, creeping back up around his ears again. Felix can just about see the top of the car frame pulling up beside them.

"Is the driver looking at us?” he asks. “Hum for yes."

Sylvain glances across, a flick of his eyes that leaves his head unmoving. "Mmn."

"Does he just have one hand on the steering wheel?"

"Mmhm."

Predictable. Felix rolls his eyes as he tugs out his gun and flicks the safety off. "When you hear a gunshot, drive."

Sylvain's eyes widen, if only a fraction, before Felix sits up, his gun barking twice with each shot. The car lurches again, Sylvain seeming to throw all his body weight into the drive as though it'll help. Felix twists to look back. There are two neat holes in the driver's seat window, and the windscreen, but as he watches, the tail sits back up, apparently unharmed.

Shit. Still, there's always a plan B. Felix fires again, and again, aiming for the tyres this time. The tail swerves though, and both go wide. Shit, shit, shit.

Sylvain's eyes meet his in the rearview mirror. "Did you get him?"

"Left."

"No, then. Let's hope he doesn't drive as quick as he moves, huh?"

Felix grips the seat, his feet planted firmly into the footwell. Cracks are spiderwebbing across the tail's windscreen, but they don't seem to faze him. There's another glimpse of blond hair then, shaking loose from under the flat cap, and what Felix can now see is a patch on the tail's right eye as the car creeps closer. It's a good weakness to know, not that he can exploit it yet.

"Shit. Of course he does. Bet he's gonna ram us if he gets the chance."

"Then don't give him one. Right."

Sylvain spins the wheel almost before he's finished talking. The tail moves in tandem and the two cars arc round the corner in near perfect unison. "Left," Felix barks, and Sylvain swerves round a much tighter corner. The tail is close enough now that the cars slam together with a wailing metallic screech, and he doesn't let up. But that's okay. Felix hadn't thought he would. The question is, will he do it once he realises Sylvain's about to steer him neatly into the construction site up ahead?

He still seems determined. His car bumps up against theirs, trying to force them up onto the pavement to avoid the construction site. Sylvain's lips thin and he yanks at the steering wheel again, spinning the car in a perfect pirouette that their tail follows instinctively- until he finds himself mounting a pile of rubble, barely pulling away in time to miss the fencing behind it.

"Nicely done," Felix murmurs, over the background screech of Sylvain's engine and the tail's brakes. Sylvain grins, sharp and wide.

"I try. Hold on."

Felix does, and the car spins again as they emerge out onto School Street. How Sylvain knew there'd be a big enough gap between parked cars he has no idea, but they slot in neatly enough. By the time the tail drives past, the car is switched off, its two occupants lying flat against the benches.

One second. Three. Five. "Is he gone?" Sylvain asks eventually.

Felix shakes his head as he sits up, flicking the map between point A- the garage- and point B. “I doubt it.”

"So what now?"

Felix tucks the map into his pocket and pushes the door open. "Reverse down the sidewalk, then drive round the block. Meet me back here when you're done."

"O...kay?" Sylvain says, sounding distinctly unconvinced. Felix shuts the door on him and takes a position behind the van next to them. Just in time- the tail's headlights appear round a corner up ahead, moving at a much slower pace this time. Luckily for Felix, Sylvain seems to know how to follow orders. Their car draws up onto the pavement as the tail approaches, matching it perfectly so that by the time the tail levels with where they'd been parked, it's already out of sight.

Well, mostly. Its shadow on a nearby wall gives it away. But that's what Felix wants. At a flick of his wrist, Sylvain nudges the car gently forward and round the corner, and Felix steps out from behind the van as their tail drives after it.

This time, his aim is steady. Two more shots punch neat holes in the car's tyres, and he watches as their tail skids into a nearby phone booth.

That felt too easy. Felix frowns, even as Sylvain pulls up and he slips back into the car. He twists to look round again, just in time to see a tall shape unfold itself from the wreck behind them.

Just in time to register the crack of a pistol before the rear left tyre blows out.

"Fuck!"

There’s a hideous dry screech from beneath them as the tyre carcass drags along the road. They’re into the old town now, and the cobbles of the street create a veritable chorus with the metal skidding across them. Sylvain throws all his weight behind the wheel, dragging the car left into a side street; they’ve slowed a little, but he seems determined to make up for it with sheer willpower, which Felix can appreciate.

“I think you should look out the window,” Sylvain tells him, sounding distinctly like his teeth are gritted.

“Already am.”

The shape behind them is gaining ground with every second. A few moments later and it’s on them, grasping for the boot cover, which gives way enough beneath his fingertips to give him a handhold. And it’s definitely a he. A sudden shock of cold runs through Felix at the sight of that face. Even missing an eye, he’d know it anywhere.

But Dimitri is dead. Isn’t he?

“He’s trying to stop the car,” Sylvain says, uselessly. Felix can hear the noise of the engine grow as he accelerates, but the figure behind them keeps pace with it. Of course it does. It- he- has their scent now, rabid dog that he is. “You could try taking a shot at him, maybe?”

It’s not a suggestion, despite the upwards inflection at the end. Felix’s hand is still sitting on his pistol, but he finds himself utterly unable to move, still staring at the narrowed blue eye above him.

Another shriek of metal, and the boot cover gives way. Dimitri looks almost like he’s holding a shield when it comes off in his hand. Like a knight in the old tales, or a monster pretending to be one. The car engine roars to life in Sylvain’s hands and they finally start to pull away; Dimitri, realising this, flings the shield in their direction, and Felix barely has a moment to duck and cover his head before it lodges itself in the rear view window, shattering the glass behind him.

It’s him. Has to be. There’s no one else with that strength. “First left,” Felix gasps, trying to settle his thoughts back on something solid, “then immediate right.”

Like this, with nothing blocking the noise, the shrieking tyres are almost deafening. He can still see Dimitri sprinting after them. It’s a good thing he’d taken the time to memorise the curfew patrol routes on the way up; just as they slip through a low arch and into an alleyway, two sets of headlamps pull round and onto the road they just left, sirens blazing. There. That should keep him busy for a moment.

Sylvain looks less happy with this. “This road doesn’t go anywhere,” he says. “It’s a dead end. The car won’t even fit through the last part.”

“I know,” Felix says shortly. “It’s part of the plan.”

“What plan?”

“Stop talking and drive faster.”

Sylvain’s eyes flick to his in the rearview mirror, but he doesn’t disobey. Good boy. They’re almost at the steps now, a faint flicker of light off the sea through the gap up ahead, and- there. The car launches off the top step and gets a couple yards before the too-thin space between brickwork makes it grind to a halt in midair, suspended between two walls.

“Great,” Sylvain huffs. “Now we’re still being chased, but now we’re stuck.”

“Not stuck.” Felix leans over him to wind down the driver side window. “We can still get out.”

“And then what?”

“I’ll tell you when we get there,” Felix snaps, “now _go_.”

They’re pressed so close, he can almost feel Sylvain’s nod against his arm. Felix pulls back and watches him scramble for the window. He’s a rather large man, but there’s a surprising grace to his movements as he pulls himself out and up onto the car roof. Felix exits out the back- there’s not enough left of the windshield to pose much of an obstacle- and jumps down, ducking under the car to meet Sylvain on the alley overlooking the sea. The other man is patting the half-crushed front bumper of his car lovingly, like a cat or a horse or something equally ridiculous. Felix gets the sense he is distinctly the second priority here.

“So. The plan? Do you have a boat or something?”

“I do,” Felix nods. He turns abruptly left and makes for the house two doors down; the key from his packet slots in perfectly, and he pulls out his torch.

“...in there?”

“Shut up and follow me.”

Sylvain does, and together they move through the quiet, dark hall. The disused stairs creak beneath their feet as Felix leads him up a first set of stairs, then a second, then a third. Once they’re in the attic, he gestures to the skylight. “Open it.”

“Wha-”

“I said open it.”

Sylvain nods and hurries over to the window. The handle takes him a couple of tugs- sloppy work from whoever had prepared the place, they could have at least oiled it- before he can yank it up and push the window up with it. “Out, I’m guessing?”

“Yes. Quickly, now.”

Despite the lack of thought for the skylight handle, there is at least a chair underneath. Sylvain clambers onto it, then up and onto the roof. He turns around with a hand outstretched as if to help Felix up, but Felix just huffs. He leaps up, using the chair as a springboard to get himself hip-height with the skylight, and then pushes himself up the rest of the way with a hand either side of the window.

“Huh,” says Sylvain. “Okay.”

Felix ignores him. The view from here stretches for miles, but it’s not what he’s looking for; rather, his attention is on the rope tied tightly around the chimney. He grabs at the first of two chains tied near the top, the ends of which someone has helpfully bound with leather for handholds, and shakes it at Sylvain.

“Hold this.”

“What is it?”

“It’ll get you down.”

“Down to where?”

“There’s a boat. Don’t ask questions, just go.” Felix gives him a shove and Sylvain takes the hint. He clambers up onto the side of the roof, wraps his fingers more tightly around the hand grips before jumping off into the darkness. Felix picks up the second chain and gives him a few moments before leaping off after him, just as there’s a sudden, loud thud behind him. He looks back to see Dimitri standing at the top of the roof, silhouetted in the moonlight over the town. A small, childish part of him wants to stick his tongue out. The rest is only concerned he might try to cut the rope.

Only he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls off his jacket, wraps it into a tight coil and slings it over the top of the rope. Felix’s eyes widen. Shit, is he really going to- yes, yes he is coming after them.

Well. It beats him snapping the rope, which Felix has no doubt he could do easily enough, and sending them tumbling to the harbour below. That, and his jacket is a lot less smooth than his and Sylvain’s ropes, meaning he’s significantly slower despite the gravitational advantage of his weight.

Sylvain is on deck when Felix lands. Raphael offers them both a broad smile. “You want me to get going?”

“...no,” says Felix. “I want you to move closer to him.”

“Okay. Seems a bad idea to me, but whatever you want, boss.” Raphael gives him a little salute and tugs at the engine starter. The boat leaps forward in the water, graceful despite the combined weight of its passengers, and Felix watches intently as the rope slackens. Dimitri’s figure gets lower and lower until his feet hit the water with an audible splash. Felix tosses the end of the rope overboard and settles himself as close to the stern as he can get to watch as Raphael turns the boat deftly away and out towards the sea.

“You okay?” Sylvain asks eventually.

“Yes,” Felix tells him, ignoring the rigidity in every one of his muscles. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno. Just look as though you’ve seen a ghost, is all.”

Felix glowers. “I’m fine. We got out, that’s the important thing. We’ll regroup outside the city and head south from there.”

“South to where, exactly? You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“That’s because I don’t know yet. Adrestia, eventually. What happens before then, that one’s up to you.”

“Why me? I mean, I’m not exactly anything special.”

“You kidding me? You’re a hell of a driver!” Raphael enthuses. “The way you made that car just fly off the stairs like that- man. I wish I’d had a camera. No one would believe me otherwise.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re not going to tell anyone then, isn’t it?” Felix reminds him.

“Right. Yeah. Of course.” Raphael doesn’t look at all fazed by his snappiness. Felix remembers that particular trait from the war. It’s still really fucking annoying. “Hey, either of you want a sandwich?”

“Please,” Sylvain says quickly, already reaching out a hand. “That would be amazing.”

“No problem! Ignatz is great at packing stuff when I’m out late. He’ll probably still be working when I get in.”

Felix tunes out the conversation. His colleague’s marital adventures don’t concern him, and he doesn’t care to hear them. Besides, there’s little room in his brain for anything but Dimitri right now.

He might have been seeing things. The street lamps were weak and patchy, and they had been moving fast at the time. But his gut tells him that isn’t the case, that no other man could have single-handedly slowed a car while barely breaking a sweat, not to mention flinging the bumper like it weighed nothing.

But then if it is Dimitri, how? He had been executed at the end of the war, as Cornelia and her localised, targeted bloodshed rose abruptly through the ranks in Fhirdiad. Felix hunches in on himself and tugs his coat collar higher against the sea spray. It’s fine. It’s fine. Whoever it is, Sylvain is away from him now. All Felix needs to do is find Miklan, drag the two of them down to Edelgard, and then he can wash his hands of the whole mess.

He’d moved to Adrestia precisely so that he could stop being haunted by Faerghan ghosts, dammit. He refuses to have them trailing him again any longer than he has to.


	2. Chapter 2

Felix greets the next morning in the apartment the other key had been for; a tiny little place tucked away in Surnau, apparently the biggest city in Daphnel. He remembers wondering, when he was younger, what the land on the other side of the mountains was like whenever they’d gone to visit Ingrid’s family.

So far, he’s not overly impressed. But he got the target here in one piece. Now he just has to get him back down south to Enbarr. Sylvain’s car is a write off, not to mention a very large distance away, and while Raphael had gladly ferried them down to Swallowed Needle Bay, he’d had his own work to get back to. Still, Felix has dealt with far worse situations. That’s not the part he’s worried about.

The part he is worried about is the typed note inslipped under their door in the night, during the brief span Felix had allowed himself to doze. He’s got it pinched in his fingers now as the sunlight peeks over the rooftops. It’s typed, with no fingerprints. Just a short missive:

 _Affolstal Park  
_ _10am  
_ _51.4506° N, 0.1069° W_

He doesn’t like it. Messages like this never lead anywhere good- and besides, who writes silly notes like that, anyway? He should ignore it, find a new car, and get Sylvain down south before anything or anyone else catches up with him.

But he can’t shake the feeling there’s something else going on here. Why the hell had Dimitri showed up? As part of some resistance cell, perhaps? He’d done enough to damage Faerghus’ prospects in the war proper, the last thing Felix needs is his apparent return from the dead to carry on doing so.

“Penny for ‘em?”

Felix blinks. Apparently he had been engrossed enough that he failed to notice Sylvain appearing in the doorway, a teacup in each hand. He shoves the note into his pocket before the other man can get a good look at it. “Nothing. Are you ready to go?”

“Are you?”

“Hn.” Felix frowns and sniffs the air. “What is that?”

“Tea. Hope you’re okay with the pine needle stuff, I took the last of the Seiros bags. Your bosses keep this place pretty well stocked, though. Reckon we could hole up here for at least a month.”

Sylvain bends to set Felix’s teacup on the table in front of him before taking a seat opposite, because apparently he’s the sociable type. Which makes sense, given the history of philandering noted in his file, but Felix has never enjoyed small talk, especially with mission targets. Something about the tea has caught his attention- not to mention the note- which leaves him little mental space for pleasantries. “It’s a good thing we’re not staying any longer, then. Someone else can enjoy the pantry.”

“Oh?” Sylvain raises an eyebrow as he lifts his own cup to his lips. “What’s the plan, then?”

“For you, nice and simple. You’ll stay here until I take you down to Enbarr.”

“And you?”

Felix takes a brusque swig of tea; the heat and sharpness are calming, though he misses Bernie’s coffee. “I’ll be back by lunch.

-

The park is a pretty thing, with bright green grass and a large pond on the far side of the main lawn. A cafe is clearly doing brisk business, customers clustering across the patio outside, though Felix can’t see any children among them. When he turns towards the point marked out by the coordinates he can see a toilet building. There’s no queue there either, no one going in, coming out or dawdling outside waiting for someone.

Oh, he doesn’t like this. The anxiety prickles at him, making his fingers curl inwards instinctively. His right hand finds the cool weight of the pistol in his pocket and settles there, grounded in the knowledge that whatever is waiting for him, he can still fight.

He straightens his shoulders and pushes the door open. Inside, light falls from the glass roof and down onto the black and white tiled floor. His shoes click faintly as he walks, glancing around from stall to sink to stall again.

Felix hears him before he sees him. There’s a faint whisper of a shoe across the tiles, then a looming shadow just past his shoulder-

What the fuck. Felix moves without thinking, giving the figure a hard shove to the chest with hands that know exactly which angle to strike. Even after ten years and- apparently- a missing eye, he’d know that face anywhere.

Dimitri barely moves. He’s bigger than when they were kids, and the responding charge Felix fails to dodge shoves him hard into a bathroom stall. The door breaks under their combined weight and Felix twists beneath Dimitri’s hands, sliding down the lower half and punching up hard again as he ducks through his legs. If it winds Dimitri, he doesn’t show it. Just turns, face dark with anger, and grabs for Felix’s hair. This time Felix is faster, lower, and a sharp kick to Dimitri’s ankle finds its mark and makes him falter a moment.

Felix spares no time; he plants his feet back on the ground and launches himself to the side as Dimitri charges again. Forward, straight into the sinks; two break under the force of his bulk. Felix grabs a hunk of porcelain and swipes at his face. The noise that earns him is animalistic, more of a snarl than anything, and Dimitri’s arm sweeps out to knock him into the wall so hard his ears ring with the impact. The second grab at his hair finds its target, and Felix yells as he’s yanked forward, over the floor to-

Dimitri stops dead in his tracks. His grip is painful and Felix hisses, squirming against it.

“Enough. Put him down.”

Felix is unceremoniously dropped at that. He’s about to launch himself at Dimitri again, but then he looks up to see a dimly familiar figure. He hasn’t been back to Faerghus since the reconstruction, but she’s visited Enbarr a few times. What was the name again? The woman chuckles.

“That’s better. We can’t have you killing your new partner on your first day, can we?”

“Your _what_?” Felix blinks back the last of the stars at the corners of his vision and staggers to his feet, staring between the stranger and the might-as-well-be. Dimitri looks as lost as he feels, brow furrowed in the way that had once preceded a stern lecture.

“I am… to work with a partner?” he says slowly, instead.

“Yes. You remember the mission we discussed? It is critical for our stability and security. Two heads will no doubt prove better than one.”

“But,” Dimitri says slowly, frowning down at Felix specifically now, as though he’s been sent for the sole purpose of throwing a spanner into his onetime best friend’s work. “I do not-”

“It is very simple,” Cornelia interrupts- Cornelia, of course, the smarmy one with the chest and the sickly smile. Felix remembers her now. “The disappearance of the Margrave and his son poses a dire threat to our security. With your combined talents, I am certain you will be able to shepherd his… nephew, was it? To safety, and in doing so find our missing men.”

“Why wasn’t I told about this?”

“There’s been a change of plan. This is important enough now that it requires two of our best. And you can hardly expect Edelgard to come chasing around across the continent to deliver minor updates like this.”

“But the governor of Faerghus has infinitely more time,” Felix says dryly.

“Well, not particularly. But I was here for trade talks regardless, so it seemed best to send me. Now, are we going to have this conversation here or sitting down with some tea like civilized people? Not you, dear.” Cornelia pats Dimitri’s arm, offering Felix a conspiratorial smile. “Heaven knows he hasn’t improved much,” she tells him, as though Dimitri is incapable of speech. Felix should be relieved that he’s being kept well in hand, but the whole thing merely rankles. “But the two of us ought to have something, at least.”

“...sure. I’m guessing it’s your people in the cafe, then?”

“Round of applause for the Fraldarius boy. Small wonder you survived the war.”

Felix grits his teeth. She is- for now- his superior. He has put up with much worse for much longer. He can handle one simpering Empire bureaucrat and her pet guard dog for the next few days. He follows her across the lawn to the cafe, keeping one eye on Dimitri all the while. He looks different. Taller. Bigger. Longer hair, straggly and unkempt; no more of the ridiculous bowl cut of his youth. Shoulders hunched.

 _Good,_ he finds himself thinking. _The outside finally matches what’s underneath._

Dimitri’s one remaining eye flicks down to meet his then, and Felix quickly looks away.

-

The chair Cornelia gestures to creaks underneath Dimitri when he sits. Cornelia perches daintily atop hers, and Felix takes the remaining seat at the table as though he’s expecting one or both of them to murder him, which seems understandable given the circumstances. Dimitri has so far shot at him- or at least, at his car- twice

What he does not entirely understand is the way Felix keeps looking at him. Judging by the furrowed brow and the frown, he seems angry about something that runs deeper than a short fight in a public toilet, only Dimitri cannot understand why. Perhaps he had taken it personally, or perhaps Dimitri has already made a mistake in their very short acquaintance. That seems likely- he often makes mistakes. People are often angry with him. Though it is very rare that their anger evokes a sense of curiosity in response.

They sit in silence while Cornelia orders tea. Three cups are delivered, although Felix does not touch his. Dimitri, being aware of the importance of hydration and also finding it unlikely that Cornelia’s staff would poison any of the three of them, picks his up and, once Cornelia has taken a sip of hers, starts on his own. It sits tasteless on his tongue until he swallows, but in the faint chill of the late autumn landscape, the warmth is welcome.

“So why send him to attack me?” Felix says eventually, once it becomes clear that Cornelia does not intend to be the first to open the conversation.

“Oh, I did nothing of the sort. I told him to rescue Berger. I can only assume he saw you spiriting him off and attempted to come to his rescue.”

“Rescue him from what?”

“Well, you, just then. But before that- who’s to say? People rarely go missing without either someone taking them, or something driving them underground. I told Dimitri to be ready for anything, and bless him, he very much lived up to that.”

“He shot at us. He destroyed our car.”

“Sylvain’s car,” Dimitri corrects. “And I did not destroy it. I would not have done anything to harm Sylvain in the attempt to rescue him.”

“It’s not like you’ve shied away from killing innocents before,” Felix says, his voice sharpening all of a sudden. Dimitri frowns.

“I’m sorry, have we met?”

Felix is staring at him now, even angrier than before. Dimitri chides himself mentally- this is a terrible start to his relationship with his assigned mission partner.

“A long time ago, I think,” Cornelia interjects, her voice as calm and unruffled as ever. “It would have been when you were children, I imagine. Certainly not recently.”

“Well, obviously not, ‘cause he was-”

“Mr. Fraldarius. As you can see, he is alive and well and gainfully employed. I can vouch for his quality as an agent, though I will admit he is not particularly gifted when it comes to subtlety.”

Felix huffs out something that sounds like “no shit.” Dimitri puts his cup down.

“That much is true. In anything that relies on that particular quality, I hope I will be able to rely on you to take the lead.”

Felix leans back in his chair, head tilted as he eyes Dimitri in a manner not unlike those of his masters in Fhirdiad. Calculating. Weighing up how best to use him, how far his ungainly, messy self can be trusted with missions. It is a look he is used to, and has learned to tune out to some degree, even if it prickles beneath the skin. He has not lost control any time recently, though, and he does not intend to do so again. That incident was an aberration.

“Fine,” Felix says eventually, looking firmly at Cornelia now. “But I take point on all of it, not just the subtle parts. I don’t trust the boar as far as I can throw him.”

“Understandable. I trust I can rely on you to keep the relationship between the two of you professional, and not let any past knowledge complicate matters.”

“I know how to do my job, Miss Arnim. I’m just making sure he’s been trained to do his.”

“On that front, you can be assured, he will perform excellently. He always has done.” Dimitri tries to tamp down the feeling of warmth in his chest at the praise. “You only need to ensure he keeps a tight rein on his temper.”

“And if he loses it completely?”

“Then I trust you will know how best to handle it. Rendering him unconscious often helps.”

“And if it doesn’t? He was a monster, before.”

“Of course, we have a failsafe in place. Show him, Dimitri.”

Dimitri dutifully pulls down the hem of his turtleneck to reveal the slender collar underneath. It looks rather like that of a dog, only with the tag on the back, close to his spine.

“If he ever becomes too aggressive to handle, just use this,” Cornelia says, holding out one of the buttons the guards use when he has an episode. Felix’s eyes widen briefly at the sight. Dimitri wonders what he makes of the whole arrangement. Very few people have fallen so far as to require a system of protection so thorough. He can well imagine that Felix might want to rethink his role in this mission, knowing who he has been partnered with.

But after a few moments, though, Felix slips the button into the pocket of his suit jacket. His eyes flick to Dimitri, down to the collar, then up again to his face.

“Fine. I’ve got a hotel booked nearby- I’ll get you another room. Or would you prefer the kennels?”

Dimitri nods. “A room would be sufficient, thank you. I imagine the kennels would only draw attention.”

“Mm. Guess so.” Felix eyes him a moment longer before he pulls out a small pad of paper and a pen and scribbles something on the surface of the former. He rips the sheet off the top and sets it on the table, part-covered by the ashtray. “There. Meet us at eight. I’m going to let Sylvain know.”

“I look forward to working with you,” Dimitri offers, because it is polite and also because he simply is. Whatever it is about Felix that is so familiar, he feels safe around him, even with the casual insults. Especially with the casual insults. At least he knows he will be around someone who will not hesitate to treat him like the rabid animal he can become, should push come to shove.

“Don’t waste your breath on flattery,” Felix scoffs. “Are we done here?”

“Yes,” Cornelia says, smiling brightly at him. “Yes, I believe we are.”

“Good. I’ll see you in a few hours then, boar.” He turns to leave, then turns back to give Cornelia a quick, perfunctory bow before he walks off properly. Dimitri takes another sip of his tea and realises that it has gone cold.

Cornelia looks over at him and rolls her eyes. “Ugh, you’re doing that thinking face. Stop it. You have your orders, don’t you?”

“I… yes.”

“And you understand them?”

“Yes.”

“Then what is the issue?”

“I do not know.” Dimitri looks down, the picture of contrition. He needs something to balance out the way he has failed to simply accept his task. He will most likely pay for this on his return to Fhirdiad, but if he behaves well in the meantime, the punishment may just be lessened. “It- they feel strange, those two. Familiar.”

Cornelia rolls her eyes and waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, please. They’re from Faerghus, that’s all. It’s probably just the accent. Don’t think too much of it.”

Dimitri bows his head, which has begun to ache. There is something he is missing here but he cannot think what. A flash of dark hair, and another of vivid red, and then nothing. “You are right, of course. Was there something else you wished to discuss?”

“Mm. Two things, actually.” Cornelia takes a slow drag on her cigarette. The smoke curls through her hair when she pulls it free of her mouth, leaving a familiar pink lipstick stain on the filter. “Whatever happens, I need Sylvain back alive. Miklan is a nice-to-have, but not essential.”

“But I thought Miklan and the father were the primary mission targets?”

“Miklan is only a target because he is a liability. Take him out, and we’ll get two birds with one stone. And you know how much I enjoy neat solutions.”

“And the second thing?”

Cornelia lifts the cup to her mouth again and takes a long, slow sip before setting it daintily down in the way she does when she wants to make a point. “If Felix impedes the mission, kill him. Don’t worry about cleanup, I'll have his body collected later.”

None of this makes sense to Dimitri. Felix is on their side, but also to be killed if he interferes. Sylvain, not Miklan, is the target- but Felix's body is still wanted, should he fall, and there is a prickle of familiarity at the idea of each of their faces. Still, Dimitri is stupid. Cornelia has drilled that lesson into him well enough. If he does not understand, it is likely because he cannot, not because the plan itself is not elegant. And so he nods.

“Good boy. Run along now, there’s a dear.”

The smile Cornelia gives him is sickly-sweet, but it is at least a smile. Dimitri knows to be grateful for what he can get, and so he gives her a little bow and rises to follow his new mission partner.


End file.
